Harry Potter & the Flume of the Agathos Daimon
by Lution
Summary: The wizarding world is still reeling from the shock of Voldemort's death. But not everyone is celebrating you-know-who's demise, and when a new deadly threat begins to emerge, it has sinister overtures to the past.


**Harry Potter & The Flume of The Agathos Daimon**

Chapter 1

The Heir Apparent

Dusk was falling when Mrs Elspeth Twickenham stood in her kitchen and opened a tin of cat food. She was a stout, brusque woman, who wore 'tweedy' skirts and sensible shoes. "Brutus – Brutus, tea time," she called robustly, tipping the tuna chunks into a bowl, which made a soft squishing noise as they fell out of the can. "Brutus, where are you?" she called again, but there was no sign of the cat.

Brutus, a tortoise shell moggy of dubious parentage, loved his food, as exemplified by his over-sized girth, and ordinarily, he could hear a tin being opened from half a mile away. Consequently, his non-appearance was unusual in the extreme.

Mrs Twickenham frowned and peered out of the window into her garden. The neat flower beds and perfectly manicured lawn, were resplendent in the gathering twilight, and although she scanned every inch meticulously, there was still no sign of the cat. Then reluctantly, almost as though she were being forced to do it, she turned her gaze to the hedge at the bottom of the garden, and the overgrown field that lay beyond. The field ended in a high bramble thicket, and beyond that, were a narrow twisty country lane, and a heavily fortified Victorian manor.

Mrs Twickenham, formerly the headmistress of a large provincial school, had decided to retire to a life in the country. Growing runner beans and strawberries had appealed to her, and so she had looked around for a suitable home. She had almost missed the photo of the cottage in the agent's window. Tucked away in a secluded corner, the photo was faded and had an air of neglect. It had obviously been there for a very long time. Moreover, the price was incredibly cheap. Upon making enquiries, the agent had shuddered and stammered something about the cottage being, "Quite remote." Mrs Twickenham had dismissed this as "Poppycock," and moved in. However, she soon discovered why the cottage had been so cheap. According to local gossip, there was something 'odd' about the Victorian manor.

The manor was easily the grandest house in the district, and yet both it and the lane had attracted a sinister reputation. The lane was officially titled Blackheath Lane, but because of the mystery surrounding the manor, a long time earlier, the letter H had been replaced by the letter D, and it was now known locally as Blackdeath Lane. Of the manor itself, only the roof and four slender chimneys were visible, for it was surrounded by an imposing high stone wall, and the only access, or so it seemed, was via a set of intricately patterned wrought iron gates.

Nobody had ever seen who lived there. Some people claimed it was the home of a dishonoured Duke, although there was no proof of this, while others said it was home to an eccentric millionaire. The latter explanation had more plausibility, as several people had caught glimpses of a pure white peacock perched on the high stone wall. In addition, the infrequent visitors seen walking up its sweeping driveway, had been wearing what appeared to be a long black cloak.

Mrs Twickenham shivered slightly. Little did she know that whenever she used the lane as a shortcut to her home, she was not the only local resident to feel a tingle of fear when they walked passed the manor. "Don't be silly," she told herself sternly. "It's just a house," and donning a pair of walking shoes, went in search of her cat.

Apart from the appearance of a dandelion that had dared plant itself in the lawn, there was still no sign of the cat. Mrs Twickenham sighed in annoyance, for she had a good idea where the elusive moggy would be. She slipped through a gap in the hedge and marched across the field. She had just reached the bramble thicket when two slight movements caught her attention. The first was a quick glimpse of tortoise shell. Brutus was hiding in the long reedy grass. The second movement however, was of much more interest. Lit by the infrequent streetlights dotting the lane, a small hooded figure wearing a long black cloak, had come into view. Even more curiously, it was striding purposefully, and with some degree of haste, towards the manor.

Several things happened in quick succession. Brutus suddenly emerged from his hiding place and darted across the lane. The figure jumped as though startled, and in one swift movement, reached beneath its cloak and produced a long thin stick. There was a blinding flash of bright green light, and the cat moved no more. The figure waved the stick again and a second cat appeared. This animal however, bore absolutely no resemblance to the first. Pearly white and extremely large, the long-haired cat made no sound as it ran down the lane to the manor. Then, as though the metal was nothing more than smoke, it passed straight through the gates. Mrs Twickenham screamed in terror. There was a second flash of bright green light and she silently slid to the ground.

The figure kicked the dead cat aside and continued along the lane, and upon reaching the manor, made no attempt to make itself known. On the contrary, like the silver cat, it simply passed straight through the gates. The figure was so small and slight, that its footsteps barely registered on the gravel driveway. Then, just before reaching the house proper, it suddenly stopped dead. Standing as rigid as a statue, it seemed to be listening. Something, or someone, had moved.

Unlike earlier, as the figure produced the wand for a second time, the movement was slow and cautious. "_Lumos_," it whispered. Instantly, a pair of pink eyes were reflected in the light coming from the end of the wand. The albino peacock ruffled its feathers and casually strutted away. The hooded figure visibly relaxed, but as it lowered its arm to stow the wand, a face was momentarily revealed, a round, squat, almost reptilian face.

Meanwhile inside the manor, the roaring fire in the opulent drawing room, did nothing to lift the atmosphere of gloom. It was as though a very close friend had suddenly died, leaving those behind stunned and confused, which was not too far from the truth. Of the three occupants, only Narcissa Malfoy sat unnaturally still. Her face was so pale and gaunt, that she looked near to death herself, but it was not bereavement that was causing her wan appearance, it was fear.

"What are we to do?" Her voice was shaky and her eyes brimmed with tears. She looked, and was, terrified. "The Dark Lord has gone and…oh Lucius, I don't like this, she'll be here in less than five minutes." Her voice became slightly hysterical as she added, "Perhaps it would be safer if we apparated out of here."

"Get a grip, Narcissa," said Lucius Malfoy tersely, his grey eyes hard and cold. "The Dark Lord has been dead almost a week, so it can't be anything to do with that."

"Personally," said a drawling voice from the depths of a wing-back chair, "I can't wait to hear what she has to say." Draco Malfoy was the image of his father – a pale pointed face under white-blonde hair, but at that moment, unlike his parents who both looked anxious and uncomfortable, he did not appear the least concerned. "Perhaps she's finally come up with a fool proof plan to get rid of Potter. I don't know about you, but I could certainly do with a laugh."

"But Draco," said Narcissa, fretfully wringing her hands, "what if she's coming to arrest us?"

"Don't be silly mother," he said in a lazy voice, turning in the chair to face her. "If the ministry had concrete proof of our allegiance to the Dark Lord, then we'd have been whisked off to Azkaban the moment he fell. No, they're after something else."

Lucius Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow. "Or she is," he said thoughtfully. There was a moment's pause, for the idea that their pending visitor might not be acting in an official capacity, had not occurred to any of them. "I don't particularly like her methods," he went on, "even if her plan to capture and discredit Potter several years ago, only failed by a bats whisker. I have to admit, albeit reluctantly, that sending Dementors to Potter's home, was quite ingenious. Pity he squirmed his way out of it, and the subsequent hearing."

"Potter seems cursed with annoying good luck," said Draco bitterly. "If that interfering half-breed Lupin hadn't taught him how to cast a Patronus, then Potter wouldn't have escaped on either occasion. He's nothing but a pretentious show-off."

Lucius Malfoy rounded on his son, his voice curt and reproachful. "And you think your tomfoolery during that quidditch match was any less pathetic? What were you, Crabbe and Goyle thinking of? The only thing dressing up as a Dementor achieved, was to expose your stupidity. You are nearly 18 years of age, it's about time you grew up. You might have reached your majority but you certainly don't act like it. Right now our main concern, our only concern, is self-preservation." Lucius waved a hand around the room. "Do you want to lose all this? Do you want to live in a two room shack at the back of The Three Broomsticks? No? Then you'd better listen to me. We have more important things to worry about than petty revenge on Harry Potter."

The latter was too much. Draco jumped to his feet, his hands balled into white knuckled fists. "Petty revenge? Vincent Crabbe is dead because of Harry Potter, as are many of our other friends," he spat angrily, then in a rare display of affection, he looked at his father and softened his voice. "And I will never forgive him for sending you to Azkaban." Narcissa let out an anguished cry and buried her face in her hands. Draco drew himself up to full height and said fiercely, "Believe me father, if I ever get the chance, I will finish the work the Dark Lord started, and kill Harry Potter with my bare hands."

"No you won't!" Lucius Malfoy's booming voice bounced off the walls. He strode across the room and none too gently, shook his son by the shoulders. "Don't you understand? It's that kind of mentality that will put us all in Azkaban. We got away with it last time, but if we are to survive the uncertainty and suspicion that surrounds us, then we must proceed cautiously, and the murder of Harry Potter will hardly pass unnoticed. No Draco, he can wait, we cannot."

There was a light tap on the door, and when it opened, a tall thickset man announced, "Excuse me Lucius, you have a visitor."

"Show her in, Yaxley," he said lazily, sounding supremely unconcerned. The moment the door was closed however, Lucius quickly whispered, "Let her do all the talking. I will answer for us unless she asks you a question directly. In that case, try to avoid any mention of the Dark Lord…" he shot a warning look at Draco, "…or Harry Potter for that matter."

The door opened again and the cloaked figure entered the room, and as the hood was slowly pulled back, the toad-like features of Dolores Umbridge were revealed. Broad faced with a wide slack mouth, her eyes were slightly protuberant, and sitting on top of her short grey hair, was a lurid pink Alice band. It matched the fluffy pink cardigan she was wearing under her cloak. "Good evening Lucius," she said in her girlish high-pitched voice. "I trust you received my Patronus informing you of my arrival."

"Obviously," he replied tonelessly. "You would not have been permitted through the gate otherwise."

"Now now Lucius," she said cajolingly, "there is no need for resentment. I assure you that my visit is…honourable." She turned to face a tense Narcissa, who was now standing beside her son, her pale slender fingers gripping his shoulders. By contrast, Umbridge held out a pink fleshy hand, her short squat fingers bedecked in large ugly rings. "Narcissa my dear, I don't think we've ever met. I am Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic." Narcissa did not shake the offered hand, and Umbridge seemed quite unaffected as she went on, "And Draco. What a pleasure to see you again. When I was High Inquisitor and Headmistress of Hogwarts, you were my most…" she paused for dramatic effect, "…loyal servant."

A strangled gasp caught at the back of Narcissa's throat, but only Draco was close enough to hear it. The door opened again and Yaxley entered carrying a tray. He placed the coffee on a long, highly polished oak table, but instead of exiting the room, he took up a position beside the door and resolutely folded his arms.

Umbridge gave one of her nauseating little coughs. "Hem, hem. Excuse me Lucius, whereas I appreciate your hospitality, and dare I say it, cautiousness, what I have to say to you is private and confidential."

Lucius looked at Yaxley and gave a single nod of his head. He waited until the door was closed before saying, "What is it you want Dolores?" They were all seated at the long polished table. Narcissa tried to pour the coffee, but her hands were now trembling so badly, that Draco did it instead.

Umbridge's toad-like mouth broke into what she supposed was a friendly smile. "After the recent disturbing events at Hogwarts, I simply wanted to reassure myself that our leading family has survived intact, and is not being persecuted by what I would call, unwelcome forces." She gave a nasty little laugh. "Not to mention…dangerous and unnatural half-breeds."

Lucius Malfoy was immediately on the defensive. "Huh," he snorted, "I'd like to see them try. My family has every right to defend itself."

"Of course it has," she said in a honeyed tone. "As one of our more noble established families, you should take every opportunity to highlight your position." Draco Malfoy, who had been listening intensely, watched as Umbridge slowly raised the coffee cup to her lips, and peering directly at his father over the rim, added in a meaningful voice, "And your wizarding superiority."

"Under normal circumstances I would agree with you," said Lucius, his shoulders relaxing a little. "But it seems wizarding superiority doesn't count for much these days. There was a time when only pure-bloods could hold positions of authority. Nowadays they're given to anyone, just look at that dolt Shacklebolt. It seems anyone can become Minister for Magic."

Umbridge slowly lowered her cup. "Or headmaster of Hogwarts," she said in an undertone.

"Oh?" said Draco in surprise, his ears pricking up. "Have they found a new one? I hope it's not that old hag McGonagall, or worse still, somebody like the traitorous Slughorn. He betrayed Slytherin you know. He was more concerned with his stupid green pyjamas than defending our honour."

Umbridge smiled sweetly again, but there was no warmth in her eyes as she said, "I believe Minister Shacklebolt has not only been offered the post, but is actually considering accepting it."

"No!" Draco, his face contorted with rage, stood up so suddenly that his chair toppled over. "Kingsley Shacklebolt headmaster of Hogwarts? Father, you have to stop this. Talk to the governors, you still have power and influence," but Lucius was already shaking his head.

"Believe me Draco, I wish I could. If…" Lucius Malfoy abruptly broke off. He had almost said that if the Dark Lord was still alive, then he, Lucius, would have no trouble in cancelling the appointment. Instead he said, "If the governors have already made their decision, then there's nothing I can do about it."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Umbridge quietly, and there was something in her voice that caused all three Malfoys to react. Narcissa, who had been staring sightlessly into her coffee cup, looked up sharply and frowned. Draco, having righted his chair, leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. Lucius however, did the opposite. He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, his manner shrewd and alert.

"Explain yourself Dolores. Your statement obviously has something to do with why you're here."

"It all comes back to what we were discussing earlier. I'm quite sure that not everyone is pleased with the outcome of recent events. In fact, I'm absolutely certain of it. No doubt those who are disillusioned and aimless, are searching for a new leader to guide them. One who will be sympathetic to their cause, and provide better stability and inspiration." She made a high-pitched tittering noise at the back of her throat. "After all, you must admit upon reflection, that the Dark Lord was hardly a natural leader. He was nothing but a hideous freak whose methods were sloppy and crude."

"You wouldn't dare say that if he was still alive," said Draco vehemently, his hands angrily gripping the table.

Umbridge smiled disingenuously. "Oh I concede that his knowledge of the Dark Arts was quite extraordinary, but he was too obsessed with Harry Potter to use it wisely. In short, Voldemort was too clever for his own good. I on the other hand, take a more methodical approach." She paused to draw a long deep breath, and when she continued, her tone was passionate and insistent. "If the superiority of pure-bloods is to be upheld and maintained, then the insidious rise of Mudbloods and half-breeds to positions of respectability, must be stamped out. Indeed, the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, was extremely effective in this regard before it was disbanded. Now however, instead of weeding out undesirables, the Ministry seeks to embrace them. They have even gone so far as to offer rehabilitation to Voldemort's former followers. This must not be allowed to happen. If there is nobody to protect the integrity of our noble families, then make no mistake, their blood will be irrevocably contaminated."

Lucius stared at her in disbelief. He had always known her to be arrogant and full of self-importance, but was she actually claiming superiority? He could not stop himself from asking, "Are you insinuating that you're more powerful than the Dark Lord?"

"No Lucius, not more powerful, just more intelligent. To achieve ones goals, careful research and precise planning are more effective than blindly stumbling in."

"He did plan," said Draco resentfully, forgetting his father's warning. "The Dark Lord was a genius. He always thought carefully about what he was doing."

Umbridge looked at him pityingly. "A genius?" Her voice was high and sarcastic, and there was an odd, almost triumphant glint in her eye. "Well, his genius didn't get him very far did it? All those years planning his so-called return and for what? Just so he could wreak havoc on one insignificant boy. And even on those occasions when he did have Potter at his mercy, rather than just killing him, Voldemort could not resist flaunting his supposed cleverness. So much so, that Potter was able to take advantage and escape every time. No Draco, Voldemort's supporters might have been fooled by his displays of aggrandisement, but I was not. Any wizard can cast an unforgivable curse, its effectiveness is simply a matter of practise."

"So what are you suggesting?" asked Lucius, his voice controlled but wary.

Umbridge smiled her toad-like smile again, and this time, she did not mince words. "You have access to certain resources that could be rallied to good effect. It would be in all our interests if you…consulted them as quickly as possible."

Lucius Malfoy thoughtfully stroked his chin. So Umbridge wanted him to contact the Death Eaters that were still on the run – why? Was this some kind of Ministerial trap? He decided to play for time. "Good in theory, but you're forgetting one major point. The 'certain resources' you speak of, well half of them are in Azkaban, and the other half are scattered far and wide. I have no method of contacting them."

Umbridge looked pointedly at his hand, the one stroking his chin, the one where the 'dark mark' had been burned into the flesh. "Oh I'm sure you can devise a method," she said meaningfully. "When it comes to dealing with the dregs of wizarding society, I bow to your expertise."

Narcissa made to rise but Lucius quelled her with a look. "Dolores, levelling insults at me and in my own home, will not enlist my co-operation."

Umbridge let out her sickliest giggle yet. "Enlist your co-operation?" she repeated. "Perhaps I have not made myself clear. I have the brains and you have the muscle, and together, we will restore the prestige of pure-blood families."

Narcissa could not remain silent any longer. "If you're suggesting that Lucius continue the Dark Lord's work, then I can tell you now that we refuse. My god Dolores, we barely escaped with our lives. Do you really think we'd willingly do it again?"

Umbridge slowly turned her head, her gaze hard and unyielding. "Narcissa, let me ask you a simple question. I have outlined the Ministry's new policy. Do you agree with it?"

Narcissa immediately recognised the danger and violently shook her head. "NO – no," she said quickly, and tried to smile. "Forgive me Dolores. I'm still in shock after the battle at Hogwarts. Draco was almost burnt to death by Fiendfyre."

"Of course dear," said Umbridge silkily. "From what I've heard, Draco fought most bravely. In fact, he's probably eligible for an Order of Merlin first class."

Lucius Malfoy snorted derisively. "What? For trying to kill Harry Potter? Really Dolores, even I'm not so naïve as to believe that the Minister of Magic would sanction such an award."

"Well," said Umbridge slowly, tilting her head to the side, "that rather depends on who the new Minister for Magic is." She paused to let her words sink in, and it was clear from her self-satisfied expression, that she knew something the Malfoys' did not. "Earlier this evening," she continued, "in my capacity as Senior Undersecretary, I attended a meeting of the entire Wizengamot. At this meeting, amongst other ludicrous measures, it was decided that a public election will be held to appoint a new permanent Minister. Remember, Shacklebolt…" she spat out the name as though it was something disgusting, "…is only acting in a temporary capacity."

"Ahh," said Lucius comprehendingly. "So that's what all this is about. You want the job and you need my help to get it."

Umbridge laughed so hard that her hideous hair band almost fell off. "Me? Minister for Magic? Oh no Lucius, I have you earmarked for that role."

"What?" exclaimed all three Malfoys together. Narcissa looked shocked, Lucius was stunned, but it was Draco who put everything into perspective.

"You want to make my father the new Minister of Magic?" he asked disbelievingly.

"But of course," said Umbridge coolly, as though it was blatantly obvious. "When Shacklebolt resigns, the position will be thrown open to anyone. All your father needs to do, is nominate for the post. I will do the rest."

All three Malfoys exchanged astonished glances, but again, it was Draco who reacted first. "What of the other candidates, there's bound to be some," he asked reasonably, even though his pale grey eyes were already alive with anticipation.

"So long as your father follows my instructions, then I can guarantee that before too long, he will be the new Minister for Magic. When…" Umbridge broke off and gave another nasty little giggle. "Or should I say if, the other candidates withdraw, then he'll be the only choice. In the interim, it is vital that he attract favourable opinion. Therefore, we will cultivate an air of impeccable respectability, all carefully crafted to present him in the best possible light."

Draco suddenly wrinkled his nose. He had just thought of something exceedingly distasteful. "Are you suggesting that we befriend the likes of the Weasleys'? Oh how nauseating, and what of the Mudblood Granger and Potter? They won't stand idly by."

Umbridge looked at him sharply, and for the second time that evening, Draco Malfoy received a dressing down. "I had hoped the recent past had given you wisdom Draco, but I see maturity has not fully blossomed yet. Do you really think I would abandon the plan just because it offends your sensibilities?" She banged a podgy fist on the table. "Wake up Draco! The wizarding world is heading in a new direction, and unless we steer its course, then we'll all be lost. As for Potter, I have my own plans for him." She paused for a moment and smacked her lips, as though she was already savouring his demise. Then, seeing Draco's look of disappointment, her toad-like mouth split into a broad sinister smile. "I know you want Harry Potter as much as I do, but as I am more valuable and important than you, my revenge will take precedence. But don't be discouraged, I also have plans for you, and if Weasley or Miss Know-it-all Granger happen to get in the way, then you may dispose of them as you like."

"No!" Narcissa jumped to her feet, her face stricken and pale. "The Weasleys' are a pure blood family. Surely killing one of them would defeat the purpose? I will not allow you to turn my son into a murderer."

Umbridge gave her a penetrating glare, and then seemed to relent by smiling in a patronising fashion. "Narcissa, no good cause is without noble sacrifice. I came, I saw, I conquered. Yes, I think that sums up the position very nicely."

"Julius Caesar," said Lucius tonelessly.

Umbridge fluttered her bulging eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"Julius Caesar. According to Muggle history, he was a great Roman general."

"Muggle history," Umbridge repeated scathingly, "what a contradiction in terms."

"Dolores," said Lucius patiently, "you might despise the Muggle world, but you cannot dismiss it. I'm no fan of it either, but whether you like it or not, it does exist, and although I hate to admit it, there have been some quite remarkable Muggles."

Umbridge raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Really? I didn't know you were an expert on Muggle relations."

"Far from it," he said with a grunt. "It's just that in my line of work, certain names keep cropping up. In fact, it's quite miraculous how they managed to evolve without the aid of magic."

"So what was so special about this Caesar fellow?"

Lucius Malfoy inwardly smiled. So, the all-knowing Umbridge was showing her ignorance for once. He would enjoy this. "Well, if you discount the fact that he ruled half the known world, nothing much. Then there were a plethora of warlords and kings, all of whom were interested in only one thing – conquest."

Umbridge looked scandalise, her slack mouth tightening in disgust. "Are you telling me that a Muggle once ruled half the world? Utterly preposterous."

"Oh, he didn't do it alone," said Lucius lightly, pretending to inspect his fingernails. "He did have a little magical help."

Umbridge's chair creaked in protest as she suddenly leaned forward. "Who?" she urged, her bulging eyes alive with interest.

Lucius tried to keep the smugness out of his voice as he said, "A man lost to magical history. A man so utterly ruthless, so brilliant a strategist that, if you'll pardon the comparison, he makes Lord Voldemort look like a mountain troll."

"Who?" said Umbridge again, and this time, there was real impatience in her voice.

"Pykel Hardhardt."

Narcissa and Draco exchanged puzzled looks. Clearly the name meant nothing to them. Umbridge however, gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling, her grotesque eyes rolling from side to side. "Pykel Hardhardt," she slowly repeated. "Yes, the name rings a distant bell." Lucius glanced at her sideways, his eyes narrow and hard. You lying hag, he thought bitterly, you've never heard of Hardhardt, and as for making me Minister of Magic, well go right ahead. Once I'm elected, you'll simply disappear. Umbridge was too busy trying to remember who Hardhardt was, to notice his cold satisfied smile. "And you say he was a brilliant strategist," she posed.

"Of course he was, otherwise how could a simple-minded Muggle like Caesar been so successful." Lucius Malfoy sat back and crossed his arms. This time, it was his eyes that were gleaming triumphantly, for he had saved the best till last. "Did you never wonder as to the origins of…Salazar Slytherin?"

Umbridge visibly stiffened, her slack mouth open in surprise. "I think this warrants further investigation," she said quickly, her chest heaving with excitement. "Narcissa my dear, Lucius and I have much to discuss, so you and Draco may leave." For the first time since Lord Voldemort's death, Narcissa Malfoy's ghostly features showed signs of life. Humiliated at being dismissed from her own drawing room, she glowered as she propelled Draco towards the door.

Umbridge ignored her. Somebody had to pay for her own humiliation earlier that evening, and killing the cat and the woman, had not been enough to quell her anger.

During the meeting at the ministry, which had gone on most of the day, her proposal to reinstate the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, had been unanimously defeated. In fact, the Wizengamot had erupted in protest, with many members calling both her and the Commission some decidedly nasty names. Incandescent with rage, she had stormed out of the chamber and hurried to her office, slamming the door so hard that several pictures, including a large poster stamped with the words, 'Undesirable No 1', had fallen off the wall. Snorting and breathing like a Swedish short snout, she had paced the carpet for almost half an hour. How could they treat her with such disrespect? It was unthinkable! That she, Dolores Jane Umbridge, the Ministry's most loyal servant, should be laughed out of office. 'Loyal servant'. The description had struck a chord. Yes…that was the answer. She would show them just how wrong they were, and seizing a piece of parchment, had tendered her immediate resignation. No doubt The Daily Prophet would convey a full report in the morning paper, but it didn't matter now. The purpose of her visit had been achieved. She had lured the Malfoys to her cause, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Narcissa had just reached the door when Umbridge spoke from behind. "Narcissa my dear, before you go, may I ask you a question?" Narcissa Malfoy glanced back over her shoulder. Her teeth were clenched so tightly that it looked like she was suffering from lockjaw. Umbridge, completely unaffected, went on in her sickliest, most sweetest voice, "As you don't have a house-elf, would you mind bringing me some more coffee? Mine seems to be rather cold."


End file.
